


Something wicked this way comes

by Apuzzlingprince



Series: A Demon and a Con-man [7]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: M/M, Tentacles, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:50:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I’ve been itching to try something on a human all day!" There was always a horrible sense of foreboding when Bill made statements such as this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something wicked this way comes

For all the complains Stanley had about living in Gravity Falls, there was one thing he couldn’t deny: it boasted decent weather. The summers were hot and the winters were cold, and considering how fluctuant the rest of America was, he could be grateful for that.

It was on a particularly humid summers afternoon that he folded his arms over the gift shop counter, set his chin on them, and allowed the warmth to lull him into a doze. No customers had come in for some hours, and he didn’t expect any would until the following day. But just in case, he remained stationed at the checkout.

"Just resting your eyes there, Stan?" A familiar (much to his regret) voice about yelled in his ear.

Stanley’s eyes opened in an instant.

His surroundings were monochrome.

Emitting a low groan of frustration, Stanley pressed his face into his palms and attempted to will himself awake.

No such luck.

"Good thing you drifted off!" His cycloptic intruder exclaimed. Bill descended from the sky and came to a stop in front of Stanley, hovering just above the counter, close enough that Stan could feel the slight prickling of arcane energy. "I’ve been itching to try something on a human all day!" There was always a horrible sense of foreboding when Bill made statements such as this.

Stanley reluctantly lifted his face away from his hands to glare at Bill. “Find a different human, then. I gotta run the gift shop.”

"Psh," scoffed Bill. Or he tried to scoff, anyway; it didn’t sound entirely right without the assistance of lips. "Unless you’re planning on doing that weird thing where you pretend to be a customer — yeah, I know about that — you’re free for the rest of the day! And even if you are planning on doing the weird aforementioned thing, you’re staying here. With me." The bottom lid of Bill’s single eye arched up in the parody of a grin. "Besides, I think you’ll like what I have in mind!"

It was Stanley’s turn to scoff. “I don’t like anything you do on principle. A friend of my brother can't be my friend.”

Bill lifted his arms in the isosceles equivalent of a shrug. “Oh well. Either way, I’ll enjoy myself.”

It happened within the time it took to blink; his surroundings faded to a vast plain of slick inky black that shimmered and shifted beneath his feet. Several sections of this inky wasteland were dotted with eyes. Not realistic ones, but ones that appeared to have been sloppily painted onto random surfaces, perhaps by Bill himself.

Stan felt his footing begin to fail and reached out to find leverage. His fingers found no surface, nothing firm. They instead grasped onto a thick rubbery appendage, and as Stan used it to steady himself, he noted it felt rather like a tentacle.

"Bill." The demon was exactly where it had been previously, hovering at shoulder level. Stan turned a scowl on him. "Where the hell are we?"

"A playground of my design," Bill responded in a sing-song voice.

For a couple of seconds Stan was too exasperated to respond, and by then the undulating blackness had proceeded to curl itself around his wrist. He looked down at the tendril and turned his hand over, feeling it creep into his palm and caress the calloused skin there. “Bill…” he repeated. His voice had reduced to a murmur. “Is this thing alive?”

"Do you like it?" There was hint of excitement in Bill’s voice, one Stan didn’t like in the least bit.

He attempted to pry the tentacle off of him to no avail. It had secured itself to his wrist like a vice, gradually wrapping itself around and around his hand and fingers. He flailed his limbs in an attempt to break away and the black ooze occupying the ground defiantly trailed up inside his pant leg until it reached his calf, squeezing around the flesh to secure him to the floor. It was freezing cold on his skin, eliciting a yelp.

"Hell no, I don’t like this!" Stanley about squealed. Tendrils began to rise up from the void, gracefully twisting through the air and merging into one other until they formed thick pulsating columns. Pulsating columns that simultaneously arched towards him.

He could let out little more than a yelp of surprise as they snaked up his struggling limbs and left them slick with a strange slimy residue. Two stands no thicker than a thumb located his nipples to squeeze and prod until they became hard red nubs beneath the ministrations, while another slid up his buttocks, almost tentatively exploring between them, making its way between his ass cheeks without entering him. He took a deep shuddering breath and looked imploringly at Bill, who merely examined him with interest.

"Y-you can’t be serious about this," he whispered, voice tremulous. "You can’t seriously want to watch something like this?" A new tentacle, slightly larger than the others, prodded curiously at his lips, before forcefully breaching the barrier and rendering him silent.

That was when Bill replied, “So you don’t like it.” After a contemplative pause, the demon snapped his fingers; the tendril slowly pressed further into his mouth, moulding itself over his tongue, tickling the back of his throat. His gag reflex protested so violently that Stan was certain he would vomit, but the tendril excreted a sickly sweet, viscous liquid that soaked into his tongue and trickled down his throat and the feeling swiftly diminished.

He momentarily wondered if this was Bill’s way of punishing him for his dissent, because his mouth was so full of that thick, quivering blackness that his jaw began to ache horribly. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

Another snap of Bill’s fingers, and it began to thrust.

Believe it or not, Stanley had experienced homosexual urges before. He knew roughly what a cock felt like because he’d stuck a dildo in his mouth on more than one occasion out of curiosity (and once to make Carla laugh). The tendril? Was nothing like a dildo. It was too thick, too filling. It was like he was a fucking hamster trying to fit a banana in his mouth in preparation for hibernation, but less hilarious and more uncomfortable and quite possibly the most disgusting thing he had ever experienced, and that was quite a feat considering his experiences in high school with toilets.

The way Bill floated around him was blatantly indulgent. He was enjoying the show, and he made no effort to hide it. Stan would have glared at him, but as his mouth was currently full of a thrusting tentacle he was too otherwise occupied to make the effort.

There was enough saliva pooling out of his mouth to make the already slick appendage even slicker. It slid in and out with incredible ease, languidly throat fucking him while he punctuated every other thrust with a distressed moan or whimper and periodically wiggled his limbs in a hopeless effort to break free.

"Enjoying yourself now, Stan?" Bill floated in close enough to set his thick black fingers on Stanley’s jaw, tilting his head up until he was no doubt getting an eyeful of a red-face, whimpering, withering Stanley Pines being face fucked. Had Bill a mouth, he knew the demon would have been licking his lips in arousal. One of those thin black fingers slid beneath his eyes and wiped away the wetness that had gathered there. "You’re an absolute knockout like this, you know, Pines? And the best part is, I can revisit this memory again and again, for as long as I want!" The hand withdrew. "But that wouldn’t be nearly as fun as enacting it again and again, now would it?"

When Bill floated back, away from him, the tendril occupying his mouth followed suit, sliding free with a slick pop. A slew of saliva and that cloyingly sweet liquid briefly kept them connected before the appendage dropped to the floor and re-merged with its brethren, leaving Stanley slumped over with a strand of its strange discharge sliding down his chin and soaking into his shirt.

He’d barely been given enough time to catch his breath before another tendril curled tight around his neck, squeezing his trachea shut. The lack of oxygen was quick to rendered him woozy and disorientated — pliant — and he made no further efforts to resist as the quivering appendages caressed various parts of his body. He gave little response to them until one roughly coiled around his cock and squeezed delightfully hard, sending blood flooding down to his groin. His cock rapidly stiffened and turned a deep red and despite himself, Stan expended the last of his energy on jerking his hips to encourage the tentacle. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen, his vision was black around the edges, but as daunting as death was, if he was going to be killed in the dreamscape he at least wanted to have an explosive orgasm while he did it.

It squeezed, it stroked, it oozed over the slit of his cock. Before long, it found his balls and squeezed them as well and that was all he could take; he came with a strangled cry, throat abruptly being released to accommodate the raw sound. Tears that had previously rimmed his eyes now left track marks on his sullied cheeks. His body was limp, held up by the tendrils still sliding over his body, beneath his clothes, but now in a soothing fashion, as if rewarding him for his brief compliance. His cock fell flaccid between his legs once again, cushioned by a languidly stroking tentacle. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, demand that Bill sent him home. He could only sob and whimper because, fuck it all, that had been the best orgasm he had ever experienced. It had been absolutely mind blowing, and what he would give to experience it again and again and again, even if it was intended to humiliate.

The tentacles fell away, leaving him to sink to his knees, to the floor, straight into their withering mass. He just barely managed to keep himself upright long enough to see Bill descend to him. Before he could fall the rest of the way, the demon increased in size set a hand on either side of his face, forcing him to remain in a sitting position. Frankly, he would have much rather sunk down into the tendrils and waited until every little sensation stopped feeling like too much; whatever those tendrils had been coated in, it made every inch of skin it had touched incredibly sensitive. He could barely even stand Bill’s gentle grip.

"I’ll let you take a break." The grip loosened, fingers trailing up to his parted lips, sliding across them in an almost loving fashion. "But we’re not even close to done yet, Stanley."


End file.
